


To Trust Again

by firewolfsg



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Angst, Demon!Veers, M/M, Resurrection, Reunions, Separations, True Love, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 18:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11904132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewolfsg/pseuds/firewolfsg
Summary: As he sat dying from Rukh's assassin blade, Thrawn is met by someone he had believed was only the image of his lost love.In the past, he hadn’t trusted the demon to be who it claimed to be. Will he give his trust now that he is on death’s door, and an offer is made to him?





	To Trust Again

**Author's Note:**

> Words in _Italics_ from **The Last Command** by Timothy Zahn

_Thrawn was sitting upright in his chair, his face strangely calm. In the middle of his chest, a dark red stain was spreading across the spotless white of his Grand Admiral’s uniform. Glittering in the centre of the stain was the tip of Rukh’s assassin’s knife._

_Thrawn caught his eye; and to Pellaeon’s astonishment, the Grand Admiral smiled. “But,” he whispered, “it was so artistically done.”_

_The smile faded. The glow in his eyes did likewise … and Thrawn, the last Grand Admiral, was—_

Time stood still. Thrawn frowned, the growing pain and weakness which had been dragging his consciousness into the abyss seemed to have— ceased... He had been ready for death... tired as he was... feeling all 71 of his years alive… Carrying on as he had with little heart but out of duty for his people... Seizing the moment to regroup the remnants of Palpatine's Empire to create the strong nation he preferred to be the ally his people needed against the Far Outsiders.

However, the universe apparently had little desire for that grand plan. The Rebellion had clearly prevailed and the double-edged sword that was the Nohgri's loyalty had finally turned upon him.

His only regret was not knowing how the Empire's treachery had been revealed to them.

"Ch’eo vur..."

That voice... Much loved... Missed... Thrawn could not say how he managed to muster the strength to turn towards it. "Max...

No... He did not even have the strength to hiss with the anger that overtook the pain in his chest. "Demon..."

Thrawn gazed upon the visage of a man achingly familiar though a clear impossibility. This was a face he had not seen in some two, or was it three decades. Brown hair, square jawed, beautiful hazel eyes, smooth youthful skin untouched by age or any blemish… An impossibility.

“Mitth'raw'nuruodo… Ch’eo vur…”

A blink, or was it two? Thrawn couldn’t tell, for somehow this apparition was now kneeling beside his command chair with a hand carding through his hair with a soft touch that was so familiar, but this was wrong… so wrong. For Maximillian Veers—the real Maximillian Veers did not have long, jagged horns of ebony and emerald arching from the sides of his skull. And at this close range, Thrawn could now well see the bluish green lines of dark veins upon the being’s sculpted swell of sinewy muscle.

“I have told you before, Demon… Do NOT use his voice.” He rasped through the pain in his heart which he wasn’t quite sure was only physical. Didn’t Rukh’s blade pierce him through the heart? Why wasn’t he dead yet? Where was Pellaeon—?

Oh… Just beyond this nightmare kneeling before him, Thrawn could see the Captain frozen in his stance of horrified shock. Time—was time so easy for this demon spawn to manipulate?

“Mitth'raw'nuruodo…” The back of a hand stroking over his cheek, brought his attention to this being again. “After all this time, can you still not believe me when I tell you that this *is* *my* voice?”

He was too tired to argue that age old point once more. “Tarkin… Palpatine.. both died… your masters are gone… Why did you remain, Demon?”

“Their deaths only freed me, Ch’eo vur.”

“Stop calling me that! You are not him!” Thrawn could feel flakes of blood drip from his lips even as the pain surged in his chest for his mortal wound.

His vision was for a moment whited out from the agony. And Thrawn flashed back upon that fateful day of soul crushing despair, when he was told that his beloved had died on Hoth. Then the days and weeks of numbness which followed as he tried to—to care about his own existence again. Of the concern showed by his hovering staff, and the quiet reminders from the trusted few to remember that his people were depending on him to cultivate and develop a strong ally in their defence against the Far Outsiders.

A month of quiet depression, Thrawn remembered he had allowed himself to grieve before he was ready to move on, only to be faced by the worst betrayal his so-called concerned superiors had ever inflicted upon him. Tarkin… Palpatine… The abomination they had raised through dark arts in the flesh of his beloved.

A triumphant Demon General of War. An arrogant, uncaring fiend, hungry only for the bright souls of slaughter, be it rebel or civilian. This self-important, conceited monster which presented itself to him upon its first successful mission and insisted—demanded his promised consort.

Was it chance he was in Lord Vader’s presence that first time the demon came calling? Thrawn never questioned it. The Sith Lord had shielded Thrawn and held the demon back even as it howled and demanded its just reward for returning from the dead and fulfilling its masters’ orders.

From Colonel Yularen’s files, Admiral Parck and Captain Niriz had quickly secured the Admonitor which became Thrawn’s Sanctuary from the demon. It had come to him between campaigns to demand… to plead its case… to cry for his trust and understanding…

He could not stand to face it… this abomination that wore his beloved’s face… Thrawn had suspected Lord Vader’s interference in gaining the Emperor’s understanding to at last allow him to flee into the Unknown Region with his fleet.

It had come to him one last time on the edge of the Unknown Region. Tired… defeated… sorrowful… And for a tiny moment, he had seen Max in its still hazel eyes as it promised to let him go, and not chase after him.

In his long years of exploration and expansionary work in the Unknown Regions, Thrawn had forgotten about Max… about the protections… That was why the demon could approach him now in the Chimera.

The gentle brushing of a hand on his cheek brought his attention back to the present. The pain was gone. There was only numbness now from his chest downwards.

“Mitth'raw'nuruodo, please?”

“I have no protectors now, demon…” He rasped, feeling more blood flake upon his lips and a trickle begin to drip from the corner of his mouth. “And—no more strength to resist… I cannot fight you.”

“I will not take you without your leave.”

“Really? You tried so many times.”

“When I was still mind addled by demonic influence.” Max’s cheeky smile shone down upon him. “I’ve matured since then. You’ve warned me of that before—about old age?”

“Age—and maturity…” Thrawn could feel his lips lift at the corners. He had been feeling his age lately. At 71, his hair was beginning to be streaked in white. Before he left Parck to return from the Unknown Region to investigate the Empire’s sudden silence, the man had teased him about letting the white show, and finally embracing the ‘title’ of venerable.

“Mitth'raw'nuruodo, Ch'eo—beloved, please. Let me save you.”

He felt moisture upon his face, it made him frown. The blur before him came back into focus to let him look upon a tearful visage. Oh… This… he looked so familiar… These hazel eyes so filled with love but also suffused with a pain he had never ever wanted to see There.

Oh… “Max? Is it—is it really you? Ch’eo vur?”

“Yes, yes! Please? Will you trust me now, Ch’eo vur? Please, I can only hold this stasis for so long.”

Thrawn felt the teardrops kiss his cheeks as he began to believe.

“Mitth'raw'nuruodo… Ch’eo vur…”

“Max… Ch’eo vur…” Thrawn rasped as he gazed up at his love, his General, his heart… “Is this it, then? The end?”

“No, no. Not if I have anything to say about it. But— May I?”

“Max?” It was ever so much harder to think.

“I can—I can heal you—remake you, Ch’eo vur. Will you let me?”

Thrawn gazed up at his tearful General. At the periphery of his vision, he thought he saw cracks.

“Mitth'raw'nuruodo… Thrawn!”

He blinked at his General’s distraught face. What? Was he—? Oh? He was asking—

“Please… Ch’eo vur… Don’t leave me to this existence without you. Please…”

Oh… He—why couldn’t he move his lips? This was important…

“Thrawn!”

“Yes.” His last words and breath, quickly swallowed by the mouth that closed upon his lips.

The demon that was Maximillian Veers pulled the body of his love off the assassin’s blade as the world shattered around them with the restoration of time. Pellaeon and the entire bridge of the Chimera recoiled in alarm and fright at the sudden appearance of this massive creature cradling their deceased Grand Admiral in his arms.

“Do not interrupt me.” The demon’s voice was silky, elegant, and otherworldly, thickened with an echo of harmonized voices beneath its surface.

In a blink, Veers cast the time freeze upon them again and in the same movement called forth his Death trooper minions and one special other to surround him and the body of his love. Tarkin gasped as he stumbled to catch his balance and stared upon the demon that was Maximillian Veers.

“Lead the chant.” Veers pointed a clawed finger at the former Grand Moff.

Tarkin stared from Veers to the Chiss in his arms, whose clothes were quickly vanished to reveal an aged body with its life blood dripping down its spine to pool on the floor.

“Minion!”

The words from long ago came to him immediately as he raised the Sith Holocron in his hand. As confused as he was, Tarkin had a sense that in this moment he had little free will. At the back of his mind, he knew—he knew he had died. The Death Star. How? When? That did not matter now. He was brought back for a purpose.

The chanting swelled with the voices of the Death troopers that surrounded them as the Sith Holocron rose from Tarkin’s hand. The familiar / unfamiliar moment when they had brought Maximillian Veers back so many years ago.

A swirl of black energy emerged from the holocron to sweep over the blood that still dripped from the fatal wound. It seemed to pick up the blood to become a cloud of black and red, eddying around the demon and the Chiss. Veers lifted his head to breathe and suck the cloud into his mouth.

The moment the last wisp of it was inhaled, he bent to close his mouth over Thrawn’s unmoving pale lips. As Tarkin watched, it appeared as if he could see the flow of energy moving from Veer’s mouth to Thrawn’s, down his throat to his chest and radiating from there to the extremities of his body; changing it, remoulding the thin, fragile aged skin, returning bulk to atrophied muscle. 

The wound piercing through his back to his chest healed and closed, forming an indigo scar. Serrated ridges of light rose along his spine from neck to tail bone fading to a Burgundy Red. A pair of ridged horns broke through Thrawn’s blue-black hair and grew in a tight circle, looping from temple to cheek.

The chanting ceased. The holocron fell to the floor spent, hitting the floor with a crack in the same moment Thrawn’s body convulsed in its first unholy breath.

Tarkin watched bemused as the time freeze dissipated and the terrified bridge crew stared at the two demons sitting in their midst while the Death Troopers faded away. Thrawn was still heaving deep gulps of air as he was held, still nude in the protective embrace of his love while the General gently brushed velvet from the Chiss’ new twisted horns, revealing onyx black shot through with cracks of shining cerulean.

As their audience watched, the Grand Admiral had brought his breathing under control to look up into the hazel eyes of his General.

“Ch’eo vur.” Words whispered together; otherworldly and thickened with harmonized voices echoing in the silence of the bridge. Their lips meeting in a kiss which told of time too long apart, and the promise of centuries more together.

Despite the chaos of battle outside, Pellaeon found it hard to raise his voice to say anything to interrupt this—reunion. It was difficult for him to even register the fact that their Grand Admiral wasn—hadn’t died!

But still— “Gr —Grand Admiral?”

Both Thrawn and Veers turned to face him, making Pellaeon flinch for the fury that lit the eyes of the Demon General. “I thought I said no interr—"

“Max! We *are* in the middle of a pitch battle.” Thrawn pushed himself out of Veer’s arms to stand in all his nude glory; and truly, this—decades youthened body was stunning.

A quick glance around at the near salivating gaze of the bridge crew told Tarkin that the Chiss could still turn eyes, even with the slight demonic turn in his appearance; much like Veers had. A fact the demon General was clearly not happy with as he noticed and glared around him at the staring eyes of the men and women surrounding them.

Thrawn did not blush when he noticed the attention. Instead, he threw the leering Veers an annoyed look and with a snap of his fingers restored their usual uniforms, making the General pout for the cover up.

“We deal with this first.”  

“I waited—”

“So, a few more hours are nothing in comparison.” Grand Admiral Thrawn strode to the back of his command chair and pulled out the assassin’s knife before he took his seat again.

Twirling the blade in his hand, he offered it hilt first to Veers. “Would you take care of this for me, Ch’eo vur? While I see to that?”

“It would be my pleasure.” The Demon General’s hazel eyes glowed with green fury as he seized the knife with one hand.

With his other hand though, Veers grabbed upon one of Thrawn’s horns to pull him closer into a soul devouring kiss. One of Thrawn’s hand had initially curled around the General’s shoulder, with his claws cutting into the fabric of the green uniform. But it soon reluctantly let go to move to the centre of Veer’s chest to push him away.

“Later, Max. We have a battle to finish first.”

“Do NOT take your time, Mitth'raw'nuruodo.”

“I dislike wasting lives, Max.” Demon Grand Admiral Thrawn turned his gaze upon the screens and around the bridge, the human crew could be heard to inhale sharply or gasp as they felt the touch of a foreign entity upon their mind.

“Come, my people. The Battle of Bilbringi has only just begun, let us finish it.” Their Grand Admiral’s voice whispered in their brain, filling them with the warmth of confidence and a certainty of a magnificent victory to come.

* * *

“Wilhuff?” Tarkin turned to face Veers who had approached him as the bridge crew of the Chimera collectively ignored them. “I will not apologise.”

Tarkin looked at his hands, no longer old and crippled with start of arthritis. “The tables are turned now, Master and Minion. But I have no complaints… And I can’t say I will apologise for bringing you back either.”

“You are mostly human.”

“Mostly?”

“Not changed to the extent that—” Veers casually waved at both himself and Thrawn.

“Do you hear me complaining?” Tarkin thoughtfully felt his face to confirm for himself that the wrinkles were gone.

“No.” Veers grinned at him. “So… care for a bit of hunting?”

Tarkin grinned at him wolfishly. “Will you supply me with decent equipment?”

“The best I can create.” Veers gave him a blaster rifle and a heavy blaster pistol.

“Then let us harvest some souls for you and teach the Noghri that it was unwise for them to betray the Empire.”

End

**Author's Note:**

> Ch'eo vur = "My Heart" in Cheunh, a variation of the Spanish term of endearment “mi corazon”
> 
> Introduced to me by the wonderful [white-rainbowff](http://white-rainbowff.tumblr.com/)


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